


selah

by skylights



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, I am so bad at tagging I'll just stop :/, Kinda?, M/M, Vampires, and lazy days, prompt-fill, slow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 21:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skylights/pseuds/skylights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Humanity, stripped bare. Bond rests his head in the crook of Q’s shoulder and oh, how the heart may know, but the flesh will always be slow to understand. </p>
<p>(for <a href="http://007kinkmeme.livejournal.com/1142.html?thread=72822#t72822">this</a> prompt)</p>
            </blockquote>





	selah

**Author's Note:**

> Written in an attempted response to [this](http://007kinkmeme.livejournal.com/1142.html?thread=72822#t72822) prompt D; I tried?

After so long, Q finds that he still can’t get used to the way Bond moves, shadow-like and almost a breath that you think you remember seeing on the air. 

“Do this wrong one day and you’ll accidentally scare me to death, 007,” Q murmurs when he feels a familiar touch against his side. Like the rest of him, Bond’s hands are cold, even more so on bare skin. Q leans into it all the same. 

“That would be a pity, won’t it?” Wandering fingers, a breath moulded against the curve of Q’s neck and Q lets his limbs loosen, knowing that Bond is there to catch him when he lets go. True to form, Bond is a solid weight that he falls back against.

“Ironic, too. Considering.”

Q feels his lips quirk at the thought and he might laugh, if not for Bond’s hand coming up under his chin to tip his head up. Quiet. Still. Q goes where Bond leads.

“Considering,” echoes Bond once Q is just where Bond wants him. There’s the sound of a smile in Bond’s voice and it fades with his words when he presses two fingers to the hollow of Q’s throat, tracing the small curve of bone there. “Would you like me to be more careful?” 

Shudders spark, electric across Q’s skin and Q closes his eyes. “No,” he admits. Turns his head towards Bond so that Bond can press a kiss, small and chaste against the curve of his jaw. 

“No,” Q says again. “I wouldn’t like that at all.”

  


* * *

  


Bond sets his teeth against the place where Q’s pulse beats the strongest and Q counts the time in his head, one, two, three before Bond sinks in, a slow entering that Q still tenses up against. This is humanity and humanity, Q thinks, is terribly tedious. 

“Easy,” soothes Bond in a low voice when he pulls away. In the mirror of his wardrobe, Q sees Bond with bloodstained teeth and an arm around Q’s waist, a hand resting against the other side of his neck to hold him up. Their eyes meet in the reflection. “Easy.” 

Q breathes out then, slow, breathes in deep and feels his muscles loosen once again. Humanity, stripped bare. Bond rests his head in the crook of Q’s shoulder and oh, how the heart may know, but the flesh will always be slow to understand.

  


* * *

  


“You said you didn’t enjoy Thailand.” Q angles his head as Bond draws away, lower this time. Blood is beading at the tiny pinpricks that Bond has left in his wake. “The heat?”

Bond hums in half agreement and chases a stray drop with his tongue. Q doesn’t like blood on the sheets, after all.

“The taste. You know I don’t drink on missions.”

“But this one…”

Q looks into the mirror once more and sees a trusting face, sees blue eyes and careful hands that lower the both of them down. 

“But this one was different.” Bond is bent over Q’s chest and the words are muffled against the places he has broken past skin. “Horrible beyond belief. It tasted wrong.”

Pressed to his bed, Q hooks an ankle over Bond’s legs and in quiet response, Bond leaves another mark on the curve of Q’s shoulder, gentle in the fading light. When Bond comes up for air, Q bumps his forehead against the other man’s.

“That’s because you’re spoilt,” Q says. They’re near enough for their noses to touch. “And spoilt stupid, for that matter.” A smile each, because they both know it’s true.

“I have delicate tastes, what can I say?”

  


* * *

  


The sun is rising high behind the curtains by the time Bond moves from chest to hip, a familiar path that Q dictates with his hand carding through the short strands of Bond’s hair. Slow, like honey. Like coagulation, and Q tastes copper each time Bond comes up to drink a different fill.

  


* * *

  


The push in, the slow burn. Bond has broad shoulders that Q maps with his hands, running up and down the bare expanse of Bond’s back until Bond starts to move and Q cannot help but stop to find precious purchase.

“Like this?” Bond asks, when Q’s grasp settles on the back of his neck.

“This,” Q exhales, undulating. “Like this.” Bond nips at the place where Q’s hair doesn’t quite touch his shoulders. “Just like this.”


End file.
